


A Study in Pizza (Sherlock is a Pizza Parlor - AU)

by Valeria2067



Series: Pizza Parlor AU [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Crack, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Pizza Parlor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A Study in Pink" is re-done in a culinary, but equally 'heterosexual' setting, complete with cracky, flaky fun.<br/>Ex-Master Chef John Watson has returned from abroad and needs a business partner. Also, someone has been causing a series of food poisonings, and the great pastry chef Sherlock Holmes is the only man who can help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Studium w pizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/836082) by [Pirania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pirania/pseuds/Pirania)



> From ideas involved in a conversation on Tumblr. SWEARING/Language will appear.

_[Indistinct shouting - plates breaking - fire on a cooktop - food spilling]_

John Watson _wakes up, panting_

_Cut To:  Interior of Pizza Parlor - a secluded booth in the corner._

**Manager:**  John.  You were a Cordon Bleu chef with five Michelin stars.  It’s going to take time for you to adjust to this kind of fast-food life.  And keeping a food log of everything interesting you eat WILL help you.

**John Watson:**  Nothing interesting ever gets cooked for me.

_**MUSIC! BLURRY IMAGES!  BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE!  TITLE SCREEN!  WRITTEN BY STEPHEN MUFFALETTA AND MARK GARLICBREAD!** _

_Cut to: An upscale pastry shop down the street.  Tall, beautiful man opens a ziploc bag containing unspecified dough._

**Sherlock Holmes:**   How Fresh?

**Molly:** Just made this morning.  It was a culinary school student who made it.  He was nice.

**Sherlock Holmes:**  Right.  Let’s start with the egg whisk.

_Sherlock sexily beats the living, sexy, daylights out of the sensuous mound of dough.  Molly bites her lip and daydreams naughty things._

**Sherlock**  [panting and beautiful]: I need to know which patterns appear as that dough rises in in the next 20 minutes.  A man’s recipe depends on it.

**Molly:**  Um… I was wondering…

**Sherlock**  [giving her a strange look]: Did you put cherry icing on your lips?  You weren’t eating cherry icing earlier.

**Molly:**  Oh, I, just, um tried a bit.

**Sherlock**  [gives her an even stranger look]: You were saying?

**Molly:** I wondered if you might want to have coffee?

**Sherlock** : Right. Seriously, Bitch, give it up. You can’t get to this.  But, yes, bring me coffee. I’ll be in the store-room.


	2. "A Study in Pizza" -part 2

_ Exterior.  John Watson walking, with the use of a cane, through a small park. His stride says “I’m injured, but I can still $%^& you up if you bother me.”  The expression on his face says, “Don’t even think about bothering me, @$$holes” _

**Mike Stamford:**  John? John Watson?

 **John Watson**  [sighs to himself, whispers “oh, fu-” then forces an annoyed smile]: Yes?

 **Mike:**  It’s me, Mike!  From culinary school. Yeah, I got fat.

 **John:**  No joke, mate.  Did you leave any food for the rest of us?

 **Mike:**  What are you doing here?  Last I heard you were in Paris getting hot food thrown at you.

 **John:**  Fuck you, Mike.

 **Mike:**  Funny, you’re the second person to say that to me today.

 **John:**  Only the second?  Who was the first?

_Cut to a fancy culinary school “cooking lab” with ovens and lots of cool mixers and really beautiful glassware that nobody would ever use for any real recipe, but Goddamit it LOOKS awesome._

_Sherlock Holmes is holding a tube of icing and seductively adding intricate designs to a beautiful heterosexual cake of heterosexuality.  As John Watson and Mike enter the room, he glances sidelong at John.  The smoldering heterosexual heat of Sherlock’s glare makes a fondue on the opposite side of the room burst into flame_.

 **John:**  A bit different from MY day.

 **Sherlock:**  Mike, may I borrow your phone?

 **Mike** : Oh, left it in my other apron. Why not use the landline?

 **Sherlock** [ _through clenched teeth_ ]: Shut UP, Mike. Shut UP.

 **John:**  Here, use mine.

 **Sherlock:** Thank you.

_Time seems to slow down. Sherlock and John make brief but scintillating physical contact as Sherlock’s fingers just barely brush John’s wrist.  John adjusts his stance slightly to relieve the growing pressure in his jeans._

**Sherlock:**  Paris or somewhere in Tuscany?

 **John:**  I’m sorry?  What?  Mike - did you tell him, you fat…

 **Mike:**  Nope. Didn’t tell him a thing [ _mumbles_ ] shorty.

_Molly comes in with Sherlock’s coffee.  Her lips have lost the cherry icing._

**Sherlock:**  Ah, thank you Molly. Took you long enough.

 **Molly:**  You said you’d be in the store-room.  I had to walk two blocks over here to find you when you weren’t there.

 **Sherlock:**  What happened to the cherry icing?

 **Molly:**  It… didn’t feel so good on my mouth.

 **Sherlock** : Really? That’s not what your mother said last night.

 **Molly** : OK [ _exits sheepishly_ ].

 **Sherlock**  [ _to John_ ]: How do you feel about the Food Network? Sometimes I leave the television on Food Network in the background while I cook.  I don’t wear hairnets for days on end.  Would that bother you? Potential business partners should know the worst about each other.

 **John:**  Who said anything about business partners?

 **Sherlock:**  You did. I said to Mike earlier today, “Fuck you, Mike. I’m going to open my own pizza and pastry restaurant;” now he shows up after lunch with a frankly very tasty little morsel of a culinary schoolmate.  It’s obvious.  I have my eyes on a nice little patisserie on Baker Street. You and I should be able to manage it together, I think.

_Mike smiles to himself smugly while examining a jar of fruit preserves._

**John:**  So that’s it, is it? 

 **Sherlock:**  Problem?

 **John:**  We know absolutely nothing about each other but we’re going to go open a restaurant together?

_Sherlock stops and turns to John, giving John his best “Bitch, Please” face._

**Sherlock:**  I know that you are a former award-winning chef recently fired from one of the top restaurants in Europe.  I know your current manager thinks that your limp is a pyschosomatic affectation you use just so you can carry a hipster cane and walk like a pimp —quite right, I’m afraid.  I know you’re looking for a way to start your own fusion-cuisine restaurant but you wont ask your rich brother for help.  Possibly because he’s just opened a chain of McDonald’s. Maybe because you don’t approve of his compulsive chocolate consumption.  Also, you’ve had a semi-erection ever since the moment you laid eyes on me.  That’s enough to be getting on with don’t you think?

_Sherlock walks dramatically to the door, then pops his head back in to dramatically say,_

**Sherlock:**  The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221 Baker Street.  [ _winks_ ] Sherlock out, Bitches.

_John stands dumbfounded, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He looks at Mike._

**Mike:**  Yep.  He’s always like that. Gorgeous and a total dick.


	3. "A Study in Pizza" -part 3

_Exterior shot of Baker Street.  Beside a door marked 221B is the red awning of a cafe’ that says SPEEDY’S with a hand-printed sign below that reads “Opening Soon Under New Management.”  Sherlock and John arrive at the same time.  Sherlock looks John up and down._

**Sherlock:**  I take it you’re apprehensive about this.  That’s probably what’s making you limp.

 **John:**  I’m not limping.

 **Sherlock:**  I didn’t say limping.  I said limp.

_John looks down at his crotch and shifts uncomfortably.  Just then Mrs. Hudson opens the door of SPEEDY’S and draws Sherlock into a somewhat age-inappropriate embrace._

**Mrs. Hudson:**  Sherrrrrlock!  Come give momma some sugar, love.

 **Sherlock** [ _finally breaking free of Mrs. Hudson’s boa-constrictor hug]_.  Mrs. Hudson [ _coughs, catches breath_ ], this is John Watson.  Mrs. Hudson is giving us a deal on this place because I helped her find a particularly valuable set of butcher’s knives.

 **Mrs. Hudson:**  They were sticking out of my husband at various angles.

_Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson enter SPEEDY’S.  Several containers of food are scattered about.  A few surfaces are covered with what appears to be flour or confectioner’s sugar - or both._

**John:**  Well, this could be very nice indeed.  If we just tidy up all that flour.

 **Sherlock** : It’s not flour.

 **John:**  Oh. Confectioner’s sugar.

 **Sherlock:**  Ummm.  Sure.  Yes, I’ll just take care of that - erm- sugar myself tonight.

 **John:**  Here we can do it now; looks like you’ve already started sweeping it into little lines or something…

 

 **Sherlock:**  YES I’LL DEAL with it. 

 

_ Mrs. Hudson disappears into the back kitchen so that we can have some alone time and experience the heterosexuality of the two new totally-not-gay restaurateurs. _

_   
_

**John:**  I looked you up on the internet last night.  The Science of Seduction?

**Sherlock** : Seduction?

**John:**  CONFECTION. I meant confection.

**Sherlock** : So. What did you think? I mean, of the website [ _blushes slightly_ ].

**John:**   You said you can identify a Japanase Steakhouse chef by his knifeplay and funny hat, and that you can tell the difference between lemon zest and cumin just by smell alone.

 

**Sherlock** : Well?

**John:**  Who the hell bloody CAN’T, you idiot?

_ Sherlock smiles very slightly.  He likes this.  Oh, yes. He likey the rough stuff. Mrs. Hudson re-appears in order to tone down the heterosexuality a bit. _

**Mrs. Hudson:**  Ooh, Sherlock. Another suspicious food poisoning.  I’d have thought that would be right up your street.

**Sherlock:**  Just what the hell are you implying about my cooking, woman?

**Mrs. Hudson** : No, dear, I mean your talent for guessing secret ingredients and telling when the food’s gone off.

**Sherlock**  [ _adjusting his lapels like the diva princess he is_ ]: Oh. Yes. Right.  By the way, that yoghurt you bought last year needs to be tossed out.

**Mrs. Hudson**  [ _to John_ ]: He’s just amazing with that kind of thing.  [ _To Sherlock_ ] Three cases of suspicious food poisonings already.

**Sherlock:**  There’s been a fourth.

**Mrs. Hudson:**  Oh, now, that cake you made wasn’t that bad, dear.

**Sherlock:**  No, I mean I see the Food Safety Inspector’s van outside.  Lestrade needs me. [ _Mouths silently with closed eyes and a smile ‘He needs me!’]_

_ FSI Lestrade bounds through the front door looking virile and foxy and gorgeous and vulnerable and tall and gorgeous. _

**John** : Oo-err — hello, handsome!  I mean,  _*coughs*_  Hey. 

**Lestrade** : Sherlock I need your help!

**Sherlock** : What’s different about this one?

**Lestrade:**  You know how they never leave a restaurant review?  Well this one has.

**John:** Oh.  Did she like the place?

**Sherlock:**  I’ll be right there, but not in your van.  I’ll take a cab.

**Lestrade** : Ooh, get HER.

**Sherlock:**  Oh fuck you, Greg.

**Lestrade:**  [to John]: he has, you know. Don’t mention it to the wife, alright?

**Sherlock:**  Hadn’t you better hurry along?  Don’t the kids have football practice?

**Lestrade:**  OK.  See you there.  And thanks.  I mean for the shag.

_ Lestrade nods at Mrs. Hudson and looks through John as if John were piece furniture that seemed a lot better in the IKEA showroom.  He bounds back out the door.   _

_ Sherlock smiles and jumps for joy. He does this in a totally non-girly and masculine, heterosexual way. _

_   
_ **Sherlock:**  Yes!  SQUEEE!  Four suspicious food poisonings and now a restaurant review.  Oh, it’s Christmas! Without the over-cooked turkey this time.  See you later, Mrs. Hudson!  Have a nice night in, John.  There’s some pasta in the fridge and a few eyeballs left in the microwave.

**John:**  EYEballs?

**Sherlock:**  Goats’ eyes. From Jordan. Pickled in sweet wine. Delicious.  Okay, then. Ciao!

_ Sherlock runs out.  John sulks. Mrs. Hudson pats him on the shoulder. _

**Mrs. Hudson:**  It’s alright, dear.  You just can’t go because of your bad leg.  I know how you feel.  I have a hip.

**John** : Oh SCREW YOUR HIP, YOU OLD BAT!  Like I even CARE! … I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Shit.

_ Sherlock reappears and walks over to John.  John stands up.  They are incredibly close together for two heterosexual Englishmen. Which they totally are, of course. Like, completely, and why would you think otherwise? _

**Sherlock:**  You’re an award-winning Chef.  From Paris.

**John:**  Yes…

**Sherlock** : Any good?

**John:**  Like you’d even  know the difference?

**Sherlock:**  Seen a lot of food-borne illness, then?  A bit of salmonella, too, I should think.

**John:**  Yes, of course. Lots. Enough for a smorgasbord. Far too much.

**Sherlock:** Want to come pretend to be my boyfriend and freak the guys out?

**John** : OH. GOD. YES.


	4. "A Study in Pizza" -part 4

_Exterior.  Night.  Sherlock and John get out of a cab in front of a soon-to-be-rival pizzeria across town._

**John:**  That was…brilliant. It was extraordinary.  It was quite extraordinary.

 **Sally Donovan** :  What was?

 **Sherlock:**  Evening Sally.

 **Sally** : What were you two doing in that cab that was so brilliant and took so long?  Who’s he?

 **Sherlock** : He’s with me.

 **Sally** : What, like, WITH you with you?

 **John** [laughs uncomfortably]: Ha, ha, no. NO.  He just wanted to make people think… I mean, we’re just having a bit of fun.

 **Sally** : Oh, I see. Purely physical, then is it?

 **John:**  No, hang on…..

_Anderson, resident twat of the Food Safety Inspection team, steps in front of Sherlock. Bad idea._

**Anderson:**  This is official Food Safety business, Holmes.  I don’t need you screwing up my reports.

 **Sherlock:**   And how’s your wife, Anderson? Any chance she’s coming back to you?

 **Anderson:**  You don’t know anything about my wife.  Don’t even pretend.

 **Sherlock** : On the contrary. I know she favours red raspberry glaze and vanilla custard.

 **Anderson:**  Oh, right, because you checked my grocery receipts or something?

 **Sherlock:**  No, because my dry cleaner charged me extra to remove those particular stains from my underpants last week. Come along, John.

 **John:**  Um.. Hi.  I’m not…. I’m not his boyfriend.

_Inside the pizzeria, FSI Lestrade and his crew are putting on vinyl gloves and food-service hairnets.  John does the same, but not Sherlock. Sherlock is badass like that, and we want to see his amazing hair in every scene._

**Lestrade** : Who’s this?

 **John:**   Who AM I? Seriously, did you NOT just see me at the flat an hour ago? 

 **Sherlock:**  He’s with me.

 **Lestrade:**  As in WITH you with you?

 **Sherlock** : Where’s the food in question?

 **John:**  You SPOKE to me for God’s sake.

 **Lestrade:**  It’s in here.  You can see the restaurant review she was working on before she…

 **Sherlock:**  Hush!  Quiet!  I need to think.

 **Lestrade** : [ _whispering_ ] goddamn princess…

_Sherlock moves to the plate of half-eaten pizza.  He takes out a small set of measuring spoons, chooses the smallest, and scrapes it along the top and sides of what remains of the pizza slice.  Words like OREGANO – MOZARELLA – UNDERCOOKED – TOMATO SAUCE - appear around his head. This tells the viewer that Sherlock is Thinking and doing Analysis and it is SO modern and cool and just WOW I LOVE THIS GUY, Am I Right?_

**Lestrade:**  Anything?

 **Sherlock Holmes:**   I’ve been sleeping with Anderson’s wife a bit.

 **Lestrade:**  About the FOOD, Sherlock.

 **Anderson:**  [ _poking his head through the open doorway_ ]: We know that the sick woman was upset about the mushrooms.  She started to write shitake.

 **Sherlock** [ _slamming door in Anderson’s face_ ]:   Why don’t you go EAT some shitake.  John, what do you make of this pizza?

 **John:**   It’s…about three hours old, I’d guess.  A bit undercooked in the middle.  Smells like canned tomato paste.  No mould on the crust, though. Listen, what am I even doing here?

 **Sherlock:**   You’re helping me prove a point.

 **John:**  About what? That you’re baking for both teams?  Thanks; I think they’ve got that, now.  Can we go? We have a restaurant to open.

 **Sherlock:**  God, you’re adorable when you’re mad, do you know that? You’re like one of those little fondant cupids on a wedding cake.  Only with rage.  I think I’m going to make cupcakes like that when we get back. You like cupcakes?

 **Lestrade** : Sherlock – come on. I have a Food Safety report to file before they can decide whether to re-open this place.

 **Sherlock:** Fine. Well, it’s obvious, really. The pizza wasn’t contaminated. Neither was any of the woman’s food.  In fact, her only complaint was the service – the ‘shitty service’ she was making notes about.  She waited over an hour for her order to arrive during which time her waiter ignored her while he made three cell phone calls: to one to his girlfriend, his one to a talent scout, and one his drug dealer.

 **John:**  That’s …. amazing!  You were able to figure out all that  based on a half-eaten slice of pizza?

 **Sherlock:**  Actually, no.  That’s just what ALL waiters do, more or less.

 **Lestrade:**  Oh for Pete’s sake.

 **Sherlock:**  You’ll find the culprit was in her water glass.  Tell-tale marks around the inside of the rim.  Somebody set this glass upside down next to a plate of raw chicken, and BOOM.  Intestinal fireworks in twenty minutes.  [ _softly_ ] Speaking of fireworks below the belt-line, John…

 **John:**  What did you just say?

 **Sherlock:**  Hmm?  Oh. Nothing.

 **Lestrade** : Right. Well, thanks. Really. We’ll get this place cleaned up and issue a citation.  I just hope you boys do a better job with food safety back at your new restaurant.   I don’t want to get called out there to find you writhing and having spasms because you weren’t careful about what you put in each other’s mouths.

_Sherlock looks at John.  John looks at Sherlock.  Each is visibly thinking: Oh God pretend you didn’t just picture that – you did, you just pictured that and Oh God he did, too – this is never going to work out – don’t look at his crotch – DAMMIT you looked.  Did HE look?  I don’t know; I was looking at his crotch. Okay. No, we can ignore this, just act cool, act like it’s nothing. Don’t react. Make a joke or something._

**Sherlock**  [in a strained voice]: Uhhhmmmm…..Right.  I have to go. I have to go RIGHT NOW. Bye!

_Sherlock walks haltingly but determinedly out the door._

**Lestrade:**  What got up HIS arse?

 **John:** [ _makes a small, strangled sound something akin to ‘hhhnnnnnngggg’_ ]


	5. "A Study in Pizza" -part 5

_Scene: Very plush interior of a converted pizza-delivery truck.  Back seat. John is sitting next to a beautiful brunette woman who texts non-stop on her smartphone.  She rarely looks up from it._

**John:**   Is this normal for your boss?  He just politely kidnaps people?

 **Woman:** [not looking up from her phone] Oh, yeah.

 **John** : So.  What’s your name, then?

 **Woman** :  Uh…. Lesbia

 **John** : Is that your real name?

 **Lesbia** : It is as far as you’re concerned, mate.

_Cut to: interior of darkened pizza-box warehouse.  A lone, tall figure is silhouetted in the headlamps of the stopped delivery truck.  The tall man leans elegantly on an umbrella, and he is most assuredly dapper as fuck._

**Dapper Man:**   Have a seat, Watson.  I went to the trouble of placing a single, flimsy-looking chair right in the middle of this empty warehouse.  I thought it might comfort you. 

_Dapper Man lifts the umbrella he’s been leaning on and uses it to point to the chair.  For some unknown fucking reason, he does not fall down sideways.  This lets the viewer know that they are dealing with a serious badass._

**John** : Okay, how the hell did you not just fall over right then?

 **Dapper Man** :  What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?

 **John:**  I mean, can you defy the laws of gravity?  Are you on a wire or something?

 **Dapper Man:** Are you planning to open a restaurant with him?

 **John** [ _defiant and gorgeous and ballsy, yet somehow also a bit catty_ ] **:**  You know, I could be wrong, but I don’t think that’s any of your business.

 **Dapper Man** : Well, if you do decide to open up a pizzeria at [ _looks at notes in small, leather book_ ] 221 Baker Street, I’d be willing to pay you a significant sum of money.

 **John** : Why?

 **Dapper Man:**  Because you are not a wealthy man, and I know that those hipster scarves and manbags are expensive.

 **John** : I’m not going to spy on Sherlock for you.  But, umm, just out of curiosity, just how many scarves’ worth would we be talking about?

 **Dapper Man**  [ _looks at small, leather book again_ ]:  “Fashion issues” it says here.  And an unhealthy obsession with fruit preserves.

 **John:**  Who the hell are you?!

 **Dapper Man** : May I hold your left hand for a moment?

 **John:**  My hand? What—-fuck you, no way!  Get off!  Do I look gay or something?

_Dapper Man merely inclines his head and raises an eyebrow.  This saves us the trouble of having him actually say the words “Bitch, please!”  John is caught in the man’s hypnotic smarmy control gaze and immediately offers his hand._

**Dapper Man:**   Extraordinary. Hands that have served the finest French _haute cuisine_ , and you’re willing to waste them kneading pizza dough.  But I think there’s something else you’re hoping to massage with those fingers, am I correct?

_John looks quickly away and shifts his stance again.  It seems the dough is beginning to rise…._

**Dapper Man:**   Your former restaurant manager was wrong, Chef Watson. You’re not haunted by the fast-food industry; you miss it.  Welcome Back.

_Dapper Man turns and walks away, twirling his badass umbrella of badassery as he goes._

**Dapper Man**  [ _over his shoulder_ ]: Time to choose a topping, Chef Watson.

_The text alert beeps on John’s phone.  John takes it out of his pocket and we read “BAKER STREET – SPEEDY’S CAFÉ – COME AT ONCE IF CONVENIENT.  IF INCONVENIENT, COME ANYWAY.  JUST KNOW THAT I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU COME.  COULD BE DANGEROUS. BEST DECIDE ON A SAFE WORD –SH._

_John looks at his left hand and grins._

_“Lesbia” approaches John and speaks to him without looking up from her phone._

**Lesbia:**  I’m to take you home, now.

 **John** : I need to stop someplace first. 

 **Lesbia** : All out of condoms?

 **John** : Yes. And jam.  I’m going to need lots of jam.


	6. "A Study in Pizza" -part 6

_Interior of SPEEDY’S Pizzeria Café.  Lighting, table linens, Italian art prints have all been installed and the place should be ready to open as soon as the new owners begin making food instead of making love to each other with their eyes.  John Watson walks in, looks around, and notices a middle-aged man in a white shirt and dark tie over behind the bar, wiping down the counter._

**Angelo:**  Ah! You must be Mr. Watson!  I’m Angelo. Sherlock hired me to manage this place!  Pleased to meet you!  You know, I’d do anything for Sherlock – especially  after he got me off that time…

 **John:** After he WHAT?

 **Angelo:** I’ll bet you're looking for him now, eh?  He’s in the back office having a bit of a lie-down on the sofa.  But don’t worry – I’m sure he’ll be feeling up to whatever you need from him [ _he winks_ ].

 **John:**  God, I hope so… I mean, no… It’s fine; I’ll just come back later.

 **Angelo** [ _shouting toward the back_ ]: He’s here, Sherlock!  I’ll send him right in.  [ _To John_ ]: I’ll put some Barry White music on over the speaker system. It’s more romantic.

 **John:**  I’m not his DATE!

_John huffily walks toward the back office and goes through the door. Inside we see that the office is fairly spacious, a bit dark, cluttered with all sorts of strange knickknacks, and just really, really hip and cool – I mean there’s a steer’s skull mounted on the wall and someone’s put headphones on it!  Headphones! Oh, you only WISH you were this hip and cool – Well, you’re not. Deal with it._

_Sherlock is lying on the brown leather couch.  His eyes are closed, and he’s holding the crook of his arm as though he has just injected himself with something.  He lets out a long, ragged sigh that fills the room with unbearable sexual tension.  John attempts not to whimper and clears his throat instead._

**Sherlock:**  John! You’re here. Good.

 **John:**  What are you doing?

 **Sherlock** : [ _pulls up one sleeve to reveal his forearm_ ]: Testosterone patch. Helps me think.

 **John** : Is that…THREE patches?

 **Sherlock** : Yes.  Well, it’s only a one-patch problem. The other two are for later tonight.

_John visibly swallows. Hard.  And speaking of hard…._

**John** : You texted me? I assume it was important?

 **Sherlock:**  Oh. Right. I need to borrow your phone.

 **John:**  Mrs. Hudson has a phone.

 **Sherlock:**  Yes, but it’s a Nokia from 2006.  I have standards.

 **John:**  Listen…about that text you sent me earlier…I’m not sure I…

 **Sherlock** : John, I have plenty of extra patches if you need to borrow one.

 **John:**  No…no…I’m not…NO… I’m just saying, it’s all…

 **Sherlock** : Fine. Now, I need you to send a text.  There’s a restaurant flyer on my desk.  The number is at the bottom.

 **John:**  So you brought me all this way just to send a text?  I was the other side of London…. being propositioned or threatened by some dapper fuck with an umbrella fetish!

 **Sherlock** : Did he offer you money to spy on me?

 **John:**  Yes.

 **Sherlock:**  Did you take it?

 **John:**  No.

 **Sherlock**  [ _smiling_ ]: You are SO my bitch.

 **John:**  Fuck you.

 **Sherlock**  [ _looking at his watch_ ]: Not for a bit yet.  Did you find the number on my desk?

 **John:**  Yes…hold on…

 **Sherlock:**  Text these words exactly   “Large sausage and peppers delivery, 221 Baker Street, expect small tip.”

 **John** : Large sausage….. [ _stares into space dreamily for a moment_ ]…ummm, I’m sorry, what was the rest?

 **Sherlock:**  Oh for God’s sake, just give me the phone!

_Angelo knocks on the door and pops his head inside._

**Angelo:**  Sorry to interrupt, lads, but I thought you’d want to know there’s been a pizza delivery truck stopped out front for a bit, and it’s not one of ours.

_Sherlock bounds to the door, picking up his coat and scarf as he goes._

**Sherlock** : Come on, John! This is the one!

 **John** : The one?  The one what?  Sherlock… wait!

_Sherlock and John rush out the front just in time to see the rival delivery truck speed away.  Sherlock stops, closes his eyes, and raises his open palms to either side of his head._

**Sherlock**  [ _to himself_ ] **:**  Left turn, pedestrian crossing, one way, right turn, Starbucks, left again, Starbucks, stoplight, straight ahead, Starbucks. Follow me!

 **John:**  We’re getting frappuccinos?

_Cue really fun-sounding adventurous Romani-esque string-heavy music that is basically our show’s version of Benny Hill’s “Yakety Sax” but much cooler.  Sherlock and John run down alleyways and climb fire escapes and generally look gorgeous and adventurous and we don’t even care at this point why they are running because UNF._

_A pizza delivery truck skids to a stop just as Sherlock leaps in front of it. John follows a few seconds later, panting and trying to keep up.  This is how John will spend most of the series, by the way.  Yes, bitches, we call that symbolism._

**Sherlock**  [ _flashes an official-looking badge_ ]: Food Safety Inspector!  Open up!

 **John:**  What are you even looking for, Sherlock?

_Sherlock looks in the back of the truck and then slams the door closed again, frustrated._

**Sherlock:**  Wrong pizza parlor.  Wrong part of town, wrong clientele, wrong toppings.  Damn.

 **John:**  What, you thought this was connected to those food poisonings?

 **Sherlock** : No, I was just a bit peckish, and I forgot we owned our own restaurant – of COURSE I thought it was connected [ _sighs_ ].

 **John:**  What’s this badge?  “Food Safety Inspector” – where did you get this?

 **Sherlock:**  It’s Lestrade’s.  I pickpocket him when he’s being virile and foxy and gorgeous with those broad shoulders and puppy-dog eyes of his.  You can keep that one. I’ve got hundreds back at the flat.

_John grits his teeth angrily and crumples the badge in his hand._

**Sherlock:**  Right. Got your breath back? 

 **John:**  Yes.

 **Sherlock:**  Good, because I’m going to take it away tonight.  Race you back to the restaurant, Sexy!


	7. "A Study in Pizza" -part 7

_Interior: Hallway/cloakroom of the Speedy’s Baker Street Pizzeria and Patisserie.  John and Sherlock sprint in, hanging up their coats as they go, and then lean breathlessly against the wall, reveling in this heterosexual moment of joyful heterosexuality._

**John** [ _struggling to breathe_ ]: That was…[ _*pant*_ ] the most ridiculous thing…[* _pant_ *]…I’ve ever done…

 **Sherlock**  [ _breathily_ ]:And you wrote Paula Deen a fan letter using butter as ink.

 **John**  [ _giggles like a three-year-old watching Elmo’s World_ ] **:**  Tee hee hee hee hee….Well, that wasn’t just me. Emeril put me up to it.

 **Sherlock** [ _still_ _panting_ ] : …well the pizza truck was a longshot….but it proved a point..

 **John:**  What point was that?

 **Sherlock** [ _smiling_ ] **:**  That your arse looks PHENOMENAL when you run.

 **John**  [ _licks lips, swallows hard_ ]: Sherlock, I….

 **Sherlock**  [ _places a finger on John’s lips_ ]: Shhh… John… don’t speak…..

_Sherlock leans closer to John.  Their faces and bodies move in until they are merely centimeters apart._

**Mrs. Hudson**  [ _coming in from the side door_ ]: Oh, Sherlock! There’s been such trouble..

 **Sherlock:**  God DAMMIT, woman! 

 **Mrs. Hudson:**  I’m so sorry dear, but the Food Safety Inspectors are in the back room. They keep asking when you’re going to come!

 _Sherlock slowly_ _bangs his forehead against the wall_.

_Cut to interior of the restaurant back office.  Various official-looking individuals wander in and out of the shot, looking through files and boxes, peering behind knickknacks on the bookshelves, and generally being obnoxious.  FSI Lestrade lounges casually yet sexily in a deep leather chair.  His eyes sweep over John and Sherlock as they enter the room; the corner of his mouth turns up ever so slightly as he looks at John’s now-too-tight trousers._

_John blushes and tries to think of something very unsexy, like old ladies, perhaps. Unfortunately, thinking of old ladies leads him to thinking of scarves and jumpers and ridiculously-large purses, and this just makes the bulge in his trousers even more pronounced._

**Lestrade:**  Ah, you’ve finished snogging, have you? Listen, Sherlock, I asked you to help in the case, but that doesn’t mean you get to go off on your own with Food Safety Department evidence.  Why did you take the only copy of the restaurant review that poor woman was trying to write?

 **Sherlock:**  Oh, for God’s sake, Lestrade! Why would I take some woman’s scribbled comments about poor service at a pizzeria?

 **Lestrade:**  I don’t know. Why would you open a restaurant with a man you’ve only known for 42 hours?

 **Sherlock:**  Have you SEEN him in those jeans?

 **John:**  Right. That’s it. What are you even doing here, Lestrade? This isn’t official business.  This is breaking and entering.

 **Lestrade:**  No, no.  It’s a food safety inspection. We’re looking for vermin.

 **John** [ _laughs incredulously_ ] **:**  Vermin? Here? With THIS guy?

 **Sherlock**  [ _through clenched teeth_ ]: John, I think you’d better shut up, now.

 **John** [ _stares at Sherlock in disbelief_ ] **:**  What? No!…. A rat? You?

 **Sherlock:**  Shut up.  He’s a mouse, and his name is Basil.  [ _to Lestrade_ ] Look, we HAD our official inspection this morning.  We’re clean! We don’t even allow smoking on the premises.

 **Lestrade:**  Is that why you’re wearing nicotine patches?

 **Sherlock**  [ _pulls up his sleeve_ ]: They’re not nicotine patches; they’re testosterone patches for male enhancement.

 **Lestrade**  [ _pulls up his own sleeve_ ]: Oh. Just like mine.

 **Sherlock** : Exactly. But…Wait. Where did you get those?  They’re impossible to find in this country. The only man I know who can get them shipped in is my brother.

 **Lestrade**  [ _coughs nervously_ ]: Anyway… Listen, Sherlock, the woman with the food poisoning was on an important deadline for her newspaper.  She needs to find that draft of her restaurant review. And I need you to make that happen. Now, if you please.

 **Sherlock:**  I am NOT your bitch, Greg!

 **Lestrade:**  No, Anderson’s my bitch.  And I’m sure he’ll enjoy shredding every recipe in this office if he gets the chance.

_Anderson waves from the doorway, then makes a rude gesture._

**Sherlock:**  Fuck.

 **John** [ _coughs slightly_ ] **:**  Yes, but not in front of all these people, Sherlock. Can’t it wait?

_Sherlock stares intensely at John.  John stares intensely back at Sherlock and licks his lips.  His own lips, not Sherlock’s lips. You people really are perverts, you know that?_

**Sherlock**  [ _to Lestrade_ ]: Fine. Fine…..I…um…. I think I might have left that review you want back at the culinary school.    In the faculty lounge. The lounge with the [ _clears throat_ ] really big, plush sofa. 

 **John:**  Oh. OH.  Um…. Yes, Sherlock, I think maybe you did leave it over there. Right. Well. I think I’ll just come with you… er, come ALONG with you, I mean.

_Sherlock and John look around awkwardly for a moment.  Nobody’s buying it. But what the hell.  In perfect unison, they say, “Later!” then turn on their heels and race out the door._


	8. "A Study in Pizza" -part 8: The Finale

_Interior: Culinary academy. Night. John and Sherlock enter, panting, and not just because they’ve run half the way here, either, if you know what I mean_.

 **Sherlock:** You check to be sure the lounge is empty. I’ll go get the supplies from the cooking lab and meet you there.

 **John:**  Supplies? 

 **Sherlock:**  Extra virgin olive oil, whipped cream, organic honey, meat tenderising mallet..

 **John:**  Sherlock, no. NO. None of the kinky stuff. Just a good, honest shag—

 **Sherlock:**  Raspberry jam..

 **John:**  OK, fine. I’ll just…  meet you in there. Right. God, please hurry.

_John runs down the corridor, his strong thighs and arse framed perfectly by the doorway._

_Sherlock feels something vibrate below his waist. Strangely enough, it is only his phone._

**Text Message:** Come with me.

_Sherlock looks up to see a shadowy figure at the top of the stairs. The figure clicks off a phone, turns, and begins to walk up the next flight._

_Sherlock looks back toward the corridor John ran down. He then looks back toward the stairwell._

_On Sherlock’s left, floating white “deducing” text appears: Friend…Sexual Prowess…Still Time…Tap That…_

_On his right, floating white text reads: Dangerous…Not Safe Alone…Serial Poisoner…Possible Three-way?_

**Sherlock**  [ _brushing the words away with his hand_ ]: Oh, for God’s sake; get the fuck out of my face.

_Dimly-lit interior of the Cooking Lab.  A paunchy, older man in rather unfashionable clothes stands at one side of a long table.  In front of him are two small plates, each with a single slice of pizza._

**Delivery Guy:**  Pizza delivery for Sherlock Holmes.

 **Sherlock:**  I didn’t order a pizza.

 **Delivery Guy:**  Doesn’t mean you don’t need one.

 **Sherlock:** Actually, that’s more or less EXACTLY what it means.

 **Delivery Guy:** Come have a seat, Mister Holmes. I expect you feel a bit peckish.

 **Sherlock:**  Have a seat for what? So you can poison me?

 **Delivery Guy:**  I’m not going to poison you, Mister Holmes.  I’m going to talk your ear off about my pathetic life, and then you’re going to poison yourself.

 **Sherlock**  [ _shrugging_ ]: Fair enough.

_Both men sit opposite each other and stare intensely. Somewhere, a disturbingly-smutty fanfic is written because of it._

**Delivery Guy** : So. This is how it works.  There’s a good slice and a bad slice. You pick one and eat it.  And whichever one you don’t pick, I’ll eat.  Ready to play my game?

 **Sherlock** : It’s not a game; it’s chance.

 **Delivery Guy:**  It’s not chance, Mister Holmes. It’s chess.

 **Sherlock:**  How is it even remotely like chess?

 **Delivery Guy** : I know how people think. I know how people think  ** _I_**  think…

 **Sherlock** : I mean, have you ever played chess? Even once? You do know there are more than two pieces, don’t you? 

 **Delivery Guy** : Yes, OK, it’s a metaphor.

 **Sherlock:**  It’s really not.

 **Delivery Guy:**  No more talking now. Time to play. Or aren’t you a good enough chef to tell which slice has gone off?  

 **Sherlock**  [ _growling_ ]: How..dare…you.

_Sherlock picks up one pizza slice and holds it perilously close to his truly gorgeous mouth.  The camera takes this opportunity to zoom in on that full lower lip, that cupid’s bow, that tiny little scar…. The frame jiggles ever so slightly as the cameraman adjusts his stance…_

**Voice**  [ _off-camera_ ]: Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?

_A pizza-cutter flies through the air and knocks the slice out of Sherlock’s hand before lodging itself in the shoulder of the Delivery Guy._

_Sherlock leaps over the table but can see nobody in the darkened doorway._

_The Delivery Guy collapses onto the ground, writhing in pain._

_Sherlock looks at the fallen pizza slices, looks at the Delivery Guy, and looks back at the door._

**Sherlock**  [ _breathily_ ] Holy shit….

_Cut to: Exterior, front of cooking school, Food Safety vehicles parked near the entrance. Sherlock is sitting on the bumper of one of them, bright orange oven mitts covering his hands._

**Sherlock** : Why am I wearing these?

 **FSI Lestrade:**  Because you’re really hot. Like seriously, smoking hot. We can’t have you burning those lovely long fingers if you try to scratch an itch. But, um, more to the point, any idea who threw that pizza cutter?

 **Sherlock** : I can tell you a few things. It was  someone who knows his way around a kitchen in the dark… A professional chef of some kind… judging by the angle of the throw, a shortish man, strong though, …ridiculously well-hung….

_Sherlock’s eyes drift past Lestrade and see John Watson standing a few metres away, nonchalant and gorgeous and BAMF-y and just UNF._

**Sherlock:**  Right, um, forget what I said… just… yeah. Forget all of that.  I need to go.

 **Lestrade:**  Where are you going?

 **Sherlock**  [ _discarding the oven mitts_ ]: To scratch an itch.

_Sherlock approaches John and smiles seductively down at him.  John smiles seductively back up._

**Sherlock:**  Would you like to go eat something?

 **John** : Yes. Yes, I’m starving.

 **Sherlock** : Interesting, but that’s not what I meant.

 **John** : Ah. Well, dinner first then. And I’ll take care of dessert.

 **Sherlock:**  You will, will you?

 **John:**  Yeah. I happen to know a rather delicious pastry chef over on Baker Street.

 **Sherlock** : Fitting place for one.

 **John:**  Speaking of fitting places, let’s go. NOW, before the adrenaline wears off.

 **Sherlock:**  Oh, God, yes.

_John and Sherlock begin to walk off into what would be the sunset if it were not the middle of the night._

**FSI Lestrade:**  Donovan, I want you to start a file for those two. I expect I’ll have some fanfic- erm- reports to write about them tomorrow.

 **Sgt. Donovan:**  Which two is that?

 **Lestrade:**  Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

_Theme music… Eyesex… and FADE OUT._


End file.
